Spring sounds wet

 

They are out there. There's a little tributary from the creek creeping through the woods almost to the property line. Not clear exactly why but the frogs are loving it. Still, they've moved into the pool and have started playing with their plastic combs after dark. 

No matter what the weather is doing, I haven't lifted a finger toward the garden. I am excited about taking cuttings from Jake's camellia. Such an exotic and yet research tells me they are ubiquitous in old Georgia gardens. Some kind of snobbery going on, which is evident when you price one at Lowe's or Home Depot.

The deck is a huge mess. Jake wants me to get rid of the fiber grow pots because they will rot the wood they sit on. I love them because they are covered with the greenest moss. Maybe I'll put some pallets underneath them. Cheap fix. 

It's only going to be flowers out there this year. (If you know, you know.) Vegetables come from Publix or Kroger.

So here, the thread is ready, patiently waiting for me to find a patch of mindlessness to start measuring and winding. Better Call Saul or Game of Thrones will do the trick but for the moment, when I watch TV, I sit on the floor in front of the TV at attention because The Last of Us is on. Right now I'm delaying watching the latest episode because the show is emotionally exhausting.

I cleaned and oiled the Janome this morning. Reacquainting myself with all his many tricks and wiles. I will be putting both the Featherweight and the 99K up for sale. It's a sin to let them languish the way I have.  This one gets the job done beautifully. This is a little test piece of that heavy linen using a modified herringbone to join two finished edges. The rest is just silly stuff, but I've worked it before and might work it again when patience with hand work runs out.

There was a fabulous complex dream last night. A minor character wants a much bigger role They have so much to say it's hard to tell if they are good or evil. 

it's keyboard time.

As if we could park time.

Mudcats Picnic from 2008

A little pillow that's held up pretty well. Spent time in Charlie's crib. Kicked around with his plushies. In the car for a while. Then came back here with the layover. Poor thing has been a cat's tuffet most recently.

I took it apart for a few repairs and a good cleaning.

Just 12x12.  Back then I was enthralled with how easily needle and thread passed through damask and muslin. 

The tiniest stitches. 

The line of two-ply 12wt Sulky cotton whip stitched closing the seam where I stuffed it with some poly crap that is now so coarse you could scrub pots with it.

All of this mindless activity is just a distraction from the things that must be faced. Dealt with.

Sweetie ticking down her days. Bailey has to wait until Monday with an infected injury. How these innocents--and they are purely innocent--take over such chunks of ourselves. 

Tay & Grace. Grace & Tay.

Somewhere along the way, I've misplaced my fire. but I went to the park today after the temps rebounded from below freezing to nearly 55. Sat in the sun and dragged pen across paper for a while. Stared at the turtles and woodpeckers. The words wandered aimlessly, but the doing of it, the writing, felt good. When it was time to go, I left another large quilt on the bench. 

That felt good too. from 2007. A time traveler.

Eyes wide open

 

This sunny day from a couple of years ago reminded me how much I used to enjoy the deck off the master bedroom that overlooks the pool. It's in wretched disrepair. Unsafe. 

Plans are afoot to set it right. 

This expanse of heavy, vintage linen is going to be the base for something new. Something large, but I'm uncertain about leaving it white. 

  These players await my decision.

And the very last of the 2022 Dirty Threads are gone. Time to inventory the dyes and equipment. I'm also thinking about how I'm going to share the how-to going forward. 

No news...

...is good news.  A family tradition.

I was kind of shocked that I haven't posted here in over a week, but it's been quiet. I've been quiet.

There are demons - stupid shit like facing a backlog of tax filings. Giving in to the idea that I have to find and pay for an attorney for "elder law" issues. 

Facing and dealing with changes to the book - an updated edition, likely putting all three books in one volume.

Another prime avoidance tactic for pushing ahead with book four - rounding up all the rabid rabbits I've already written and seeing what sticks.

I find endless ways to avoid all of these things now that I'm not tied to a schedule, none of them adding up to much. I'm still looking for a nap after lunch-ish which wouldn't be so bad if I didn't go to bed by 8 and waste the evening watching TV.  All told, put it down to mid-winter doldrums. We haven't suffered any weather extremes here in Georgia, so I'll shut up about that before I jinx the situation. 
 

connectors for flow

This one has been troubling me, the overall look of the thing (a good picture might have been nice) was disconnected, and scattered. Without flow. 

Pacing off, broken.

Gaps too large for mere lines to bridge. Worse than plot holes. Continental drifts of space.

Then I remembered the Orbs. Bubbles of color in cloth and stitch, echoing curves. Stepping stones.

Each one like a conversation with a character.

Who are you?

Who do you care about?

What do you want?

Can you live without it?

It's working. It will be a matter of choosing just the right colors and knowing when to quit.